


Panacea

by cheerforthewyverns



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerforthewyverns/pseuds/cheerforthewyverns
Summary: Fenris has a bad pain day, and Anders helps.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	Panacea

**Author's Note:**

> Long time lurker, first time poster.
> 
> I wrote this story to soothe myself during a fibromyalgia flare, so I've based Fenris's experiences with pain and brainfog on my own. I hope it brings you some comfort if you too deal with chronic health issues.

It had not been a long day, but it had been a difficult one. They were collecting a bounty, chasing rooting out bandits who had holed up in an abandoned inn just outside of Kirkwall on the eastern road to Ostwick. The biggest barrier was a literal barrier: a wall of debris the bandits had built with furniture, a heavy steel table, stakes, and rubble, within what had once been the common room. Varric and Anders sniped into the gaps in the structure from outside, and once Merrill and Hawke had cleared enough of the rubble away for Fenris and Isabela to squeeze through, the fight was largely over, at least for the bandits. Small spaces were where Isabela really shone, but Fenris had to focus on dodging, slicing, and moving out of the way of quick knives and rusty-looking halberds, while keeping his sword from getting lodged in the low ceiling.

Fenris had not slept particularly well the night before, and by the end of the fight the lyrium burned in its channels. His joints felt itchy, and a deep ache started to gather in his bones. In truth, the way he felt after a stretch of using his lyrium always felt worse in cold weather, and Kirkwall was getting cooler as autumn came on. As the group hurried back to the city gates, ahead of heavy clouds threatening chill rain, he found himself thinking of ways to skip the inevitable trip to the Hanged Man to argue over coin and drinks, so he could just go to bed.

“Love?”

Fenris turned to Anders, frowning at how stiff his neck felt.

Anders furrowed his brow. “You’re in pain, aren’t you? I can tell by how you’re moving.”

Fenris frowned deeper. Was it that easy to see? He was unsure if he would ever get used to the inquisitive mage ( _my_ mage, he thought, with a rush of warmth) poking and prodding him about his feelings and the state of his body. He sighed. “I am...uncomfortable.” After all, it wasn’t all pain exactly, more a feeling of being fried from the inside, and of his skin feeling too tight, and that if he could just stretch his legs _enough_ —

“When we get home, “Anders said ( _we, home_ , Fenris thought), “we’re going to draw you a bath, and I’m going to give you a rub with some elfroot salve. I want to check the lyrium, and work on your neck, and any other places that are hurting.”

He took Fenris’s hand, practiced by now at avoiding the claws of his gauntlets. Anders’s hand, like all of him, was always so _warm_ , and Fenris perked up a bit.

“That would be...nice,” Fenris managed.

Anders squeezed his hand and frowned. “We need to get you some mittens.”

* * *

To Fenris’s relief, Anders begged off of going to the Hanged Man, for both of them. His professional tone let the group know something was amiss with Fenris, but also not to overly worry. It worked so well in fact that even Isabela refrained from her usual sardonic complaints about them heading home to rut instead of spending quality time with their friends.

Together, still hand in hand, they made the trek to Darktown. Despite the warmth of the big body next to him, Fenris found himself shivering with damp and fatigue before they reached the hidden entrance to the mansion. With a careful glance around, Anders quickly dispelled the ward that protected the seemingly unlocked trap door and followed Fenris up the ladder, closing the heavy door snugly behind them. With a quick series of gestures and whispered words that tugged gently on the lyrium, the ward was reset, and they climbed the hidden stairs into the wine cellar, then continued into the main entryway. Even as his aching legs protested on the stairs, Fenris was glad that they didn’t have to walk the _entire_ way up the Hightown steps and through the streets to the equally warded front door.

“Now, you hop in the bath. I’ll get us something to eat.” Anders kissed Fenris softly on the forehead and disappeared down the back hall to the kitchen.

As he shuffled down the opposite hall to the bathing chamber, Fenris thought briefly about how these evenings used to go when he was alone in the mansion. He’d drink until he’d fall asleep, then usually spend the next day in bed, hungover and still wracked with seemingly random spasms of pain, his skin so oversensitive that even the softest fabric was painful. Things were easier, now, with the mage. Being cared for was _still_ something new, and still sometimes difficult, but he couldn’t ignore how much better he felt.

That wellness was sometimes a two-edged blade, however: knowing what comfort felt like made the shorter periods of pain sometimes more difficult to bear.

The bathroom was chilly. He lit the lamp, started the rune-heated tub, and undressed quickly, then washed perfunctorily at the taps to get the worst of the sweat and grime off of himself, and scrubbed his teeth to get the acrid, burnt-lyrium taste out of his mouth. When he was clean enough, he wrapped up in a thick towel while he waited for the sunken tub to fill, his chilled toes curled around the tiled edge.

He was ultimately roused from a stupor by the sound of Anders coming down the hall, whistling to himself. The mage entered the room carrying a small platter with slices of bread, meat, cheese, and apple. He’d removed his coat and changed into clean clothes, and Fenris looked appreciatively at his broad shoulders, the thatch of golden hair at the neck of his shirt collar. His hair was still up in its usual messy bun, and Fenris was thinking about taking it down and running his fingers through the tangles.

“Get in the tub before you fall asleep and roll in, love,” Anders laughed.

Realizing the tub was full, Fenris shed the towel and climbed down into the hot water. He gasped. It wasn’t actually too hot, but it hurt, for a few moments, on his over-sensitive skin. He sank down slowly until just his chin was above the water and leaned his head back against the tiled wall of the tub. He breathed slowly and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to relax his tense muscles.

“I think we need to come up with a routine for you,” Anders said. “We should get out your warmer clothes, of course, but I also want to plan regular baths and massages for fall and winter.”

The clothes made sense, but the rest sounded decadent in the extreme. “Is that all really necessary?” Fenris murmured, his mouth barely above the water.

“Love, there is no need for you to be in pain. As your healer, it’s important for me to keep you in top shape because, frankly, you keep the rest of us alive. As your _partner_ , I want you comfortable, and happy. It’s difficult to watch you suffer.”

Fenris opened his eyes. Anders was sitting cross-legged on the tiles at the opposite end of the bath, his bare feet tucked under his legs, his hands clasped in his lap, and he was looking down into the water.

Anders continued, “I can’t prevent your pain entirely, but I can do a few simple things to make it pass more quickly.” He smiled, and looked up at Fenris. “And it doesn’t hurt that they are things I enjoy doing.”

Fenris swallowed, his chest feeling tight. “Alright.”

Anders smiled even wider, and came around to sit near Fenris’s side of the tub with the platter. “Now, how are you feeling?”

Fenris considered, knowing only the most honest response would placate the mage. “My skin is...sensitive, and my neck and lower back hurt. My arms and legs feel…” He clenched his aching hands, not knowing how to describe the sensation. “Stretched? But not enough?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anders reach down toward him with a slice of apple with a bit of cheese. This type of gesture, begun early in their courtship, had dumbfounded Fenris at first: the way that Anders, seemingly without thinking, would assembled Fenris’s favorite foods and serve them to him while they read or bathed together. It felt wrong at first, like a twisted mirror of his former life, until he realized Anders’s actions came not from a wish to be _servile_ , but simply happened because he was _good_ , and he doted on all of his friends, and Fenris especially.

Fenris carefully took the morsel with his teeth and chewed, and watched Anders’s thoughtful expression as he too ate a few bites, then handed Fenris another snack, a bit of bread (which was nicely buttered) and ham. Fenris took this bite, too, chewing slowly as he continued to regard Anders’s face, admiring the way the lamplight reflected off the golden stubble that lined his jaw.

“—start?”

Fenris’s expression must have made Anders realized he’d completely missed the question.

“Your pain, love. When did it start this time?”

Fenris cast his eyes down. Asking for help, even from Anders, was still difficult. Part of him was embarrassed not to have just told Anders when he felt the first familiar twinges coming on, but he had hoped it would pass, and an old part of him still felt he didn’t need—didn’t _deserve_ —the extra attention. “Yesterday evening,” he admitted.

Anders hummed. “You didn’t sleep well, I noticed. Well, more food, and I want to massage your neck. That should hopefully start to loosen things up. Then a bit more thorough work in front of the fire, I think. I want to keep you warm.” Anders dug in his pocket and pulled out a jar of elfroot salve. He put the little jar on the tile, and prepared several more bites of food.

When they had first begun these treatments, Anders had explained that the lyrium was almost like a natural bodily system, like veins, or something called lymph-nodes. Like an overworked muscle could hold onto toxins that caused pain and fatigue, so could the lyrium. Anders didn’t know if it was the lyrium that caused the deeper pains or if it was something Fenris was predisposed to, but careful pressure, sleep, heat, and rest seemed to help in any case.

The first time they’d talked about his condition, Fenris’s feelings had been quite different. He remembered sitting stiffly on one of the exam tables in the clinic, where he’d been brought by Hawke, a few short months into their acquaintance. Hawke had found him at the mansion, in a dark room, so worn down by the ache that radiated from the itchy core of every one of his bones that he had not slept for days, fogged in a haze of pain. The bright lamps of the clinic were like picks in his eyes, and even sitting as lightly as he could on the table was excruciating, his hipbones feeling like they were grinding in their sockets.

“So you are saying I am broken, mage.” He remembered the cold he’d felt in his stomach, thinking, _this_ _is_ _it,_ _I’m going to be too slow_ _,_ _too weak, I’m going to_ _get caught_.

“No, that is not at all what I’m saying.” Anders had waited until Fenris, whose usually sharp brain was processing speech extremely slowly, raised his eyes to meet the mage’s before he continued. “What I _am_ saying is that you have a chronic condition that is possibly caused by the lyrium, but in any case is compounded by trauma. Your body and mind are trying to stay in survival mode, which isn’t sustainable in the long term. I’ve seen these types of symptoms many times in refugees, people who have escaped slavery like yourself...” He’d paused, since they weren’t exactly on good terms yet on the final topic: “And, mages.”

“How do you fix it?”

Anders’s shoulders had dropped. “I can’t. I can make recommendations—“

“So I cannot be cured.”

Anders’s eyes had been very warm, and very sad. “I hope you can. It will take time, Fenris.”

Fenris came back to himself, hearing the sound of the now plate being gently placed on the tiles. Anders was rolling up his sleeves. “Ready for a neck rub, love?” the healer asked gently.

Fenris took a centering breath and nodded, sitting up a bit in the water.

Anders scooted over behind him and popped the cork out of the salve jar, then scooped up a bit. Fenris could immediately smell the familiar cool-warm scent. Anders rubbed it vigorously between his hands to warm it, then very gently but firmly put both of his big hands on either of Fenris’s shoulders, so there was no surprise, no too-light touch to alarm his overactive nerves. “Okay?”

Fenris breathed out slowly. “Yes.”

Anders started to gently spread the salve over his neck and shoulders, making a few diagnostic presses with the rough pads of his fingers. Fenris winced without thinking when Anders grazed the pressure points on the back of his neck, places he knew straddled the broad line of lyrium that branched up from his back and curled around the base of his skull.

“Ah ha,” Anders said gently, but triumphantly. He pressed carefully over the same places, beginning to knead gently and Fenris breathed out hard, letting the grinding pain wash over him and give way to a more bearable ache. “It’s funny how we’re kind of strung up like puppets,” Anders said. “Things out of alignment, or things that are irritating pressure points up by our heads, can cause all sorts of problems further down. It’s also how a lot of entropic magic works, for better or worse.”

He kept up gentle pressure and quiet chatter until Fenris realized some of the over-sensitivity had gone away, and then Anders began to work on the knots in his shoulders. Between the rhythmic rubbing, the heat of the bath, and Anders’s soothing voice, Fenris found himself starting to drift again. He let his eyes close, and his head hung further and further forward as the stickiness left his muscles and the tension holding him up began to slacken.

“There we are,” Anders said softly. “Just relax, love.”

At some point in time, after he began to feel like he might melt into the bathwater, Fenris was roused by the feeling of Anders’s strong fingers digging into the corners of his jaw, thumbs pressed into the base of his skull. He felt blood rush through his ears, and some remaining tether in him finally let go, his neck and head feeling strangely, pleasantly, opened up. He pressed back into those clever hands and let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Anders made a pleased hum and gently moved his hands away, and Fenris suddenly felt the cool air of the room on the back of his neck and in his damp hair, and shivered.

“Let’s get you dried off.” Anders retrieved the towel and waited for Fenris to gather his wits to climb out of the tub. He felt a bit better, but exhausted. When he emerged, Anders wrapped him with the towel, patting it over him thoroughly but gently, so as to not irritate his sensitive skin. He kissed Fenris’s nose softly, then bent to grab the plate, and they headed back to the entry hall and further on to the guest chamber that they’d made their own, near the kitchen and the garden.

The fire in their room was already lit. Anders positioned Fenris in front of it and went to retrieve a blanket and pillow. Fenris remembered he’d left his clothes and armor in the bathing room, and Anders must have caught the realization on his face. “I’ll get your things, love,” he said, darting out the door. “Get comfy on the rug!”

Fenris sat on the soft, clean rug in front of the fire and traded the warm but damp towel for the blanket. He moved his head and shoulders experimentally, feeling some of the crunch gone from his neck.

“I forgot to have you drink water,” Anders said, returning with his arms full of metal and leather, and a water pitcher from the kitchen. He put the pitcher on the floor by Fenris, and then spent some moments carefully arranging his armor on its stand by the door.

Fenris sat up straighter, feeling a little giddy after having his neck realigned, and sipped from the pitcher. He discovered after a moment that he was parched, and drank almost the whole thing down.

“When you’re ready, lie down on your stomach, apfelknödel.”

Fenris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiled at the absurd pet name. Fenris settled on the floor under the blanket, the small pillow sandwiched between his head and his folded arms. Anders padded across the floor and crouched down beside him.

“I’m going to check the lyrium, first. Let me know if anything becomes uncomfortable, or painful.”

Fenris nodded his consent, and he felt the familiar pull of magic on the lyrium (warm and gentle and a bit like a breeze, so different than the pull from...before, which on the best days had felt like walking through a curtain made of dull knives). He listened to the high crystalline notes of one of Anders’s diagnostic spells. They all sounded slightly different, and this was the one just for him, tweaked over many months to detect even the smallest abnormalities in the lyrium.

As Anders cast, Fenris remembered a time earlier that year, when the group had taken shelter from the damp summer heat of Kirkwall at Xenon’s, which was always oddly dry and cool. While Hawke and Varric argued cheerfully over something or other, Fenris had been browsing the shelves of closely stuffed books and pamphlets, looking for something with plants for Merrill or dirty pictures for Isabela, when a name caught his eye. With one gauntlet claw, he carefully pulled a small book from where it was jammed on its side, between what looked like fussy Elvhen pornography and a book of Tevene curses.

He’d moved to a shaft of light to confirm what he suspected, which was that what he held in his hands was a treatise on diagnostic magic. It was published by Kinloch Hold, with a cloth binding and gold lettering on the cover. It had been co-written by someone named Wynne Beddoe and a person he knew _very_ well, but by a different name. He’d only seen _this_ name once, written down in block capitals by the healer on a scrap of paper, with a secretive smile, when Fenris had first been learning letters.

The contents of the slim book were mostly complex anatomical diagrams and charts of symbols that Fenris recognized as shorthand for somatic components, clearly meant for the eyes of other healers in other Circles. He’d turned the book over in his hands and traced the secret name of the man he loved with a finger before putting the book back on the shelf. He had felt a surge of pride, and a feeling of sadness at the same time, for the wistful thought of a different life: One where Anders could practice his craft openly and honestly, and earn the accolades he so deserved.

Fenris was brought back to the present by the feel of warm hands gently peeling the blanket down from his shoulders.

“You’re a bit blocked up, but nothing surprising,” Anders said. “I want to rub your shoulders and your arms, and then do your legs and hips, okay?”

Fenris nodded sleepily, and turned his head into his arms, bracketing his nose between them so he could breathe but stay relatively flat.

As Anders methodically worked, Fenris found himself continuing to fade in and out. He occasionally noticed when Anders carefully moved some part of him to get a better angle, always covering him back up with the blanket when he was done kneading and pressing on an area, or paused occasionally to get more salve. Even sensations that might technically have been painful were ultimately pleasant, since they were brief, intense, and followed by an exquisite release and the tingle of the salve, making him feel cool and warm at once. His favorite part was when Anders gently tugged apart the tiny bones of his ankles, wrists, toes, and fingers, stretching the sinews, releasing weeks of tension, then carefully kneaded everything back together, as if Fenris was a hunk of bread dough.

Fenris smiled when he heard Anders quietly cursing (“Andraste’s tits and _ass_ ”) at some particularly crunchy knots near the elbow of his sword arm. He smothered a high, snorty giggle when Anders pressed on a ticklish spot in the arch of his foot. He hissed when Anders dug into the knotted muscle above the kneecap of his forward leg, which released with a cold, delicious burn.

He had no idea how long this all took, nor how much of it he slept through. However, when Anders dug two fingers into a pressure point buried deep in the muscle of one buttock, he was suddenly extremely awake, gasping. When Anders did the same on the other side, Fenris at least knew it was coming, but he moaned into his arm all the same, half in pleasure, half in relief.

He suspected the brief but thorough massage of his ass that followed was not strictly necessary, but he wasn’t going to deny Anders that simple pleasure, and besides, he couldn’t move. Well, he _could_ move, but he didn’t want to, feeling boneless and very, very heavy.

Finally, Anders drew away and covered him back up entirely with the blanket. “There. How are you feeling?”

Fenris realized that he was hard against the rug. This happened sometimes when Anders massaged him, and Anders treated it as perfectly natural, but Fenris thought it was a very weird thing to happen while his body felt so useless and wrung out.

He rolled over carefully under the heavy blanket so he could look at Anders, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. The healer looked tired, but pleased.

“I feel...better.” His foggy brain was not able to find more specific words, and he frowned and tried again. “I feel very good.” Not much better, but it would have to do. “Thank you.”

“Good!” Anders looked carefully over his face, searching for any lingering signs of pain. “Do you want to eat any more, or do you think it’s time for bed?”

Fenris considered. He would be very hungry tomorrow, but that would be the case regardless. “Bed, I think.”

“Okay. More water, though.” Anders got to his feel and reached down to help Fenris gather the blanket around himself as he stood. He felt wobbly, like a pudding just come out of its mold. Fenris hid his slowly fading erection in the blanket, which he knew was silly to do, but was also an excuse to not let out any warm air. He dutifully drank the rest of the water, then padded to their bed and climbed quickly under the covers, spreading the additional blanket on top. He’d been dreading getting between the cold sheets, but Anders had thought to tuck a hot water flask, wrapped in flannel, on his side of the bed.

Curled around the flask, Fenris watched as Anders undressed and tidied their room, putting towels and clothes in the laundry basket. He let down his hair from its bun, then quickly combed it through with his fingers and braided it for the night. He tied it off with the same tie: a thin, blue silk cord Fenris had found in the market and given to him that summer, thinking it would look beautiful in the mage’s golden red hair (it did). Fenris didn’t take his eyes off of Anders through this entire process, but even the glint of the fire off of the golden hair that covered his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders, his pert ass, and his cock hanging between those long, gorgeous legs wasn’t enough to keep Fenris awake, and he found himself dozing again. But, this time he was in their soft, warm bed, where he could _stay_.

Finally, he felt the bed dip as Anders got in beside him. With his eyes closed, he let go of the precious hot water bottle and rolled toward the healer, who was somehow even _warmer_ , and who tucked him close. Fenris sighed into the soft hair on Anders’s chest, and Anders pulled the covers up around Fenris’s ears, just the way he liked, before settling his arms around him. Everything was warm, and quiet, and dark, and smelled like elfroot and Anders.

Sleeping pressed against Anders always helped his pain, too.

“I love you, Fen,” Anders whispered. “Thank you for letting me.”

“Love you,” Fenris breathed. And slept.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on my DA2 headcanons that make some appearance here:
> 
>   * The group all gets along. Major infighting was added by Varric for dramatic flair.
>   * The Circles are terrible, and/but Anders functionally attended a magnet high school, undergrad, and graduate school for “gifted” kids all rolled into one, and he would have collaborated on papers and pamphlets with his mentors (especially Wynne), contributing to an ecosystem of scholarship shared between Circles. I imagine he showed aptitude for healing even before becoming a spirit healer. I’ve incidentally given Wynne a Welsh last name, since it seemed fitting based naming conventions where she grew up.
>   * The group cleaned up Fenris's mansion when he moves in because the alternative is gross. When Anders moves in, they maintain an apartment of useful rooms, and set up appropriate wards and traps.
>   * Fenris and Anders get over their differences because they are both extremely intelligent, empathetic, desperate for support, and the parallels in their stories are obvious.
>   * It doesn't come up specifically in this story, but please imagine that Fenris is wearing shoes when he is outside. I beg you.
> 



End file.
